


Our Quiet Minds

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, bipolar bucky, depressed and anxious steve, somewhat graphic description of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since his last hospitalization, Bucky has been dreading and actively avoiding a repeat. But when his mania gets the best of him, his family steps in and drags him back kicking and screaming.</p><p>Steve has spent his whole life keeping his depression and anxiety under wraps, hoping no one will find out his secret. One suicide attempt later, everyone knows and he's in the hospital for the first time.</p><p>Thrown together by circumstance, Bucky and Steve try to survive their hospitalization and get out as fast as possible, all the while feeling oddly drawn to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write about mental hospitals ever since I was in one a couple weeks ago, so here we go! Like Bucky, I have bipolar disorder, although I have type II and he has type I because I needed his mania to be bad enough for him to be hospitalized for it. Both of them are written very much from my own experience with mania/depression/anxiety, so hopefully anyone else who has these illnesses can identify with them. I put it in the tags as well, but if descriptions of self-harm are triggering for you, either don't read this or skip from where it says "At some point he realized he wanted, needed, to do something destructive" to "'James, are you okay in there?'" I hope you like it!

It started like it always did. And like always, he didn’t see it coming until it was already too late. One day he woke early in the morning, around 3 AM, and he thought nothing of it, because he’d been stressed lately, and that always affected his sleep. And then that night he didn’t get to sleep until midnight, and he woke at 3 again, and this time was a little weirder because for some reason he didn’t feel tired. And then it happened again the next night, and he woke again early in the morning, muscles vibrating with energy, ready to start the day, to start new projects, to start anything to distract from the pressure starting to build in his head.

It was his sister who noticed first. It was always Rebecca who noticed first. She knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. It was hard to know yourself when you were the way he was. She had been giving him odd looks over breakfast for the last few days, and on the third morning she pulled him aside as they were walking to the bus stop.

“Something’s up, Bucky.”

“Nothing’s–”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, Buck, it won’t work.”

“Seriously, Becks, nothing’s wrong. I just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all. I’ll just take a nap when I get home or something.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “No, see, that’s the problem, Bucky. You don’t look like someone who hasn’t been sleeping, you look wired. But I know you’ve been up because you woke me up pacing in the next room. So don’t lie to me and tell me everything’s fine.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he repeated. He pulled away from her and headed back toward the bus stop, hoping the bus wouldn’t pull up before they had reached it.

“Okay, but if it gets any worse I’m telling Mom,” she called after him. That stopped him in his tracks.

“No,” he said, turning back around. “No you will not. Not after what happened last time.”

“What happened last time was necessary.”

“It was hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad. You make it sound like a prison.”

“It felt like one.”

“It’s not a prison, Buck, it’s a hospital. And a really good one, at that. It was the best place for you.”

He shook his head. “I felt like a trapped animal.”

“That’s because you were out of your mind–”

He flinched. “Don’t. Don’t talk like that. Please.”

“Sorry, I just….I need you to promise you’ll tell us. If it starts getting bad again.”

“Yeah, okay, I promise.”

Satisfied, she nodded. “Okay then. We might want to run, I think I hear the bus coming.”

“Shit! Race you there?”

Rebecca’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s go.”

Bucky beat her there. Barely.

And for a moment, he almost felt tired from the run. Almost.

The next night he didn’t sleep at all. After he’d tried laying still in bed for an hour or so, he gave up and grabbed his iPod, turning up his music loud in his headphones and pacing up and down his room. After a while the pacing turned to dancing as the music filled him, blood rushing through him, heart pounding, mind soaring. The feeling was dangerously familiar and dangerously tempting and somewhere amidst his accelerating thoughts he realized he had a choice here, to either say something or keep quiet and enjoy it. He paused in his movements long enough to stare at the wall separating his room from Rebecca’s. If he woke her up now and told her it was starting again, she wouldn’t be angry. She’d help him tell their mom the next morning and then he’d get his meds adjusted and everything would go back to normal. Boring old normal. Whipping around as the bass dropped in his ears, he made his choice.

The next morning he felt so alive, like every cell in  his body was buzzing with electricity. It was the best feeling in the world. He had missed it.

He spent all day twitching in his seat at school, getting the occasional stern look from his teachers. He was having such a hard time focusing but it wasn’t as if it mattered anyway. He was smarter than the rest of the people here combined and everything would be fine even if he couldn’t concentrate on the day’s work.

When he got home, he brushed past Rebecca and made it to his room before she could ask him any prying questions about how his day had been. Thoughts flying by now, he grabbed his laptop, put on his headphones, then opened a word processing document and began typing rapidly, filling the page with brilliant thoughts. After a while he was too overwhelmed by the rush in his veins so, looking around his room to see cobwebs in the corners, he lept out of his seat to go out to the closet to grab a duster and then went back into his room, efficiently dusting every corner. Then he checked the hallway and dusted there as well, and from there he dusted every corner of every room in the house. As he passed through the living room, he walked in front of Rebecca as she was watching TV on the couch.

“Uh, Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“Dusting.”

“Bucky, you hate cleaning.”

“No I don’t, and besides, it needs doing.”

Her eyebrows knit together in concern but she didn’t say anything else.

He moved on to the next room.

He tried to hold it in when his parents got home but somehow found his mouth getting away from him.

“And then she fucking assigned a 5000 word essay and I don’t even see why it’s fucking necessary, like I think I’ve more than proven by now that I–”

“Language, James, what’s gotten into you?”

“Shit, sorry, it’s just frustrating as hell because all the other kids in the class are holding me back, I swear, I just–”

“James, what did your father just say about language?”

“Sorry, Mom, god, I just–”

“Yeah, we get it,” Rebecca said flatly. “You’re smarter than the other kids and it’s pissing you off.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he barreled on, ignoring her tone. His words were spilling out faster by the second. “And then they treat me like I’m fucking insane whenever I say anything so it’s like, I can’t even fucking win, it’s just–”

“ _Language, James_.”

“Honestly, Dad, you can shut the fuck up.”

Stunned silence. Bucky just stared into the distance, trembling with energy, head spinning.

“James, you apologize this instant.” His mother’s voice was dangerously low.

He wasn’t sorry. And he wasn’t going to say he was.

“Piss off,” he said, and he lept out of his seat and stormed out the door.

And then he ran, and he kept running, wind whipping in his ears, and finally, _finally_ , he felt like he was free, his energy directed toward something, anything. Anything to make the thoughts spinning through his head stop for just one precious moment.

Breath ragged, he finally came to a stop. He hadn’t made it too far. He still knew where he was. His thoughts were still racing wildly. It was so distracting. He winced and struck the sides of his head with his palms several times, trying desperately to knock the thoughts out. _Out, out, out,_ he thought, eyes squeezed shut. It didn’t work. They just kept going.

He heard a car pulling up behind him and froze. It rolled to a stop next to him and his mother leaned out the window.

“James.”

“What?” he spat.

“Come with us. We can talk about this reasonably.”

“I don’t want to.” He was distantly aware that at this point he was just being petulant and irrational, but he didn’t care.

“James, get in the car.” Her voice was firmer now.

“No.”

He heard the passenger side door open and his father stepped out. “James, I need you to get in the car.”

Bucky started to back away. His father lunged forward and grabbed his arm. Bucky tried to fight back, but although the adrenaline coursing through his veins gave him an edge, his father was larger and stronger and he was exhausted by days with barely any sleep. His father successfully got ahold of him and led him into the car, pushing him into the seat. Bucky refused to buckle his seatbelt and his parents quickly gave up trying.

They passed their house and kept going.

“Whoa, hey hey hey, where are we going?” he cried out.

“James. I’m sorry,” his mother said.

“We’re taking you to the ER. You’re unstable,” his father continued.

_“No, you can’t do that!”_

“James, sweetie,” his mother said and her voice was kind and understanding and he wanted to throw up. “You’re unstable. I know you probably can’t understand why we’re doing this right now, but you’ll thank us later.”

“I’m not fucking unstable!”

“We know it may seem like that to you,” his father said, “but it seems like that to us, and if things are starting up again it’s important that you go to a safe place.”

“So that’s it, you’re having me committed.”

“I wouldn’t put it in those exact words.”

“Well, that’s too bad because it’s exactly what you’re doing. This is so unfair, I didn’t even do anything this time!”

“You tried to run away, James,” his mother said. “That’s not nothing. And things will only get worse from here. The hospital might be the best place for you.”

He started to cry.

He started to cry and he didn’t stop the whole way there, not when they pulled into the parking lot, not when his parents led him inside, not when the nurse started asking prying questions about how he’d been feeling. And especially not when he ended up being dragged all the way to the nearby mental hospital, going through the admittance procedure that he remembered so vividly from last time and did not want to be going through again. After a conversation with the doctor he was slapped with a label of “Bipolar I, most recent episode mixed” thanks to the combination of his absurd levels of energy, his delusions of grandeur, and the irritability and crying that followed.

He was put in a room by himself and spent the night pacing and crying, suddenly hit with the urge to die. He’d rather be dead than in here, that was for damn sure. Every seven and a half minutes a tech would crack open the door and ask him if he was being safe and he’d just sob and then they’d leave.

At some point he realized he wanted, _needed,_ to do something destructive and he started turning the room upside down trying to find something sharp, even just slightly. And _oh thank god,_ there was a paper clip under the bed, shoved all the way into the corner and forgotten by the cleaning staff. He thanked whichever former patient had stolen it and left it there for him to find. He reached for it and managed to snag it by his fingertips. He hid it in his sock and waited until the tech peeked into his room again, then pulled it back out as soon as she’d left. Hands trembling, he pulled down the waistband of his pants to reveal an expanse of his thigh, then bent the paperclip so the sharp point was sticking out. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he dragged the point across the skin of his leg, head swimming with pure relief when blood welled after it. And then he did it again, and again, until there were rows of red, stinging lines on his skin, a metaphor for the painfully fast and terrible thoughts filling his head. He hurried into the bathroom, the stupid bathroom with a curtain for a door, and pressed toilet paper to his skin, throwing the sheets into the toilet when they became too soaked.

He was just flushing the toilet when the door to his room swung open again. He yanked up his pants and made a show of turning on the faucet and washing his hands.

“James, are you okay in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you being safe?”

“Yes.” _Filthy liar._

“Can I see you before I go so I know you’re okay?”

He pulled the curtain aside. “Hey. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, good.” The door clicked shut.

He was still crying, but he felt weirdly calm now that he had done himself damage. He went back to pacing up and down his room, waiting for morning. He didn’t sleep at all.

Finally, when the tech popped her head into his room for what felt like the thousandth time, she told him breakfast would be starting in fifteen minutes. He threw on a change of clothes that had been dropped off after they’d inventoried his things earlier and went out.

The other boys were already gathered when he got to the group room, all looking varying degrees of sullen. As he moved, he felt the satisfying sting of his new wounds. He had the odd sense that he was winning somehow.

It was his first 24 hours on the unit, so he stayed upstairs while the others went downstairs to the cafeteria for breakfast. They handed him a tray with cold scrambled eggs and a single serving box of cereal with milk. He picked at it until the others came trailing back in and then returned his tray to the nurses station.

He listened to the other boys mutter amongst themselves while he rocked back and forth in his seat, staring down at his hands. He didn’t know how long he was going to be here, but he already desperately wanted out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M SUCH TRASH I said I was gonna update soon and then like a month went by where I did barely anything and I'm SO SORRY I'll try to update more often from now on although I do have an original novel that I'm trying to finish by the new year. Aaaaaanyway, major trigger warning for a suicide attempt on Steve's part so watch out for that. Thank you for being so patient with me and hopefully the next chapter is up really soon.

Steve wanted out.

It had been years. Years, and it just wouldn’t let up.

Sure, there were times when things were better, where it seemed like things would be okay after all. But then….

Then it all went to shit again. And he was tired of it.

It had started when he was 13. It crept up on him at first, coming in the form of a fuzzy head and heavy limbs. And then one morning he woke up and just couldn’t get out of bed.

His mother assumed it was the flu, not even bothering to check for a fever because there was so obviously _something_ wrong with him, and let him stay home for the next week. While she was gone, he cried while he did everything. He’d cry all day, and then he’d wipe away the tears just as he heard his mother’s footsteps by the door. He barely showered, and when he did he’d end up curled in a ball on the shower floor, weeping hollowly. It was without a doubt the stupidest thing that had ever happened to him. He had no idea what was wrong with him. He just knew she couldn’t know how much pain he was in.

So one week later, he somehow summoned the strength to drag himself out of bed and go to school. His mother murmured about how he still looked so pale, but she allowed him to go.

He thought he’d be fine.

But then as soon as he showed up, the questions started about where he’d been and what happened and whether he was okay. It was too much, so when his friends weren’t looking he sneaked off to the bathroom, where he huddled in a stall and held back sobs until the bell rang. He was late for class and got a stern look from his teacher. Usually it would have stung, but he couldn’t feel much of anything anymore. His only emotion seemed to be crying, which wasn’t much of an emotion at all in the absence of everything else.

He went home and tried to think through the fog in his head. Tried to think of a way to make it stop. He came up blank. He wanted to be dead, if this was what living was going to feel like for him, but he was so young and he didn’t know how he’d go about that even if he weren’t terrified.

It let off after a while, though not completely. Enough that he could at least function. But every now and then it would come back with the same intense pain it had started out with and he’d be back to trying desperately to find a way to end the pain. It continued like this, in an ebb and flow, for years.

Well, he’d had enough now. That was it. It had been four years of this absolute hell and it was showing no signs of slowing down. No, it just kept getting worse. More and more frequent and more and more painful each time it happened. So it was time.

Sure, he could tell someone. But that would be an incredibly humiliating experience, and what good would it do, anyway? Either no one would believe him or care, which he thought was the most likely option, or they’d pump him full of pills and therapy in an attempt to slow it down. And it still wouldn’t stop entirely. It would never completely stop. He was stuck with this.

He thought about how it would affect the people around him if he….well. His friends barely listened to him anyway, and his mother….she had a life of her own. Sure, it would hurt for a while, but how important could he be, really? _Not very,_ his brain told him.

So he turned to his best friend, the internet. Googled how to kill himself, trying to find the most painless way possible. After weighing his options, he figured that while overdose had a high rate of failure, it was still better than any of the other options, and he was pretty sure he could pull it off correctly after a bit of research. So one night he counted out twice the lethal dose of sleeping pills and dropped them into an empty pill bottle.

The next night, he was ready. His mother was working a shift at the hospital, so she said goodnight to him and then left, and he was alone. He swallowed pill after pill, gulping them down with water. And then he went to his room and lay down on his bed. And he waited.

He woke up to bright lights and a white room and the sound of his mother sobbing brokenly. It didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened.

“Mom?” he croaked.

“Oh Steve,” she wailed. “Steve, why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you, I should have–” Another wail. He flinched. Shit. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all. She was supposed to be sad, sure, but not like this. Not this badly. And more importantly, it was supposed to have worked.

“What happened?” he groaned.

“Steve, baby, I came home from the hospital and I came into your room to check on you and I realized something was wrong, it was so so wrong, you were barely breathing, so I tried to wake you up and you wouldn’t wake up, you wouldn’t–” She choked on her words. 

“Mom,” he croaked, throat constricting, “I’m so sorry, I thought–”

“You thought what?” she said, voice barely above a whisper and thick with emotion.

“I thought it would be easier this way. For both of us. I can’t….it’s so horrible, Mom, I can’t take it anymore, I can’t–it’s like I’m useless. I _am_ useless.”

“Don’t you ever say that,” she said sharply, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Stevie. But you can’t think that, you just can’t. We’re going to get you the help you need, baby.”

His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going to be in the hospital for a while, Steve. Not this hospital, but one that can help you with your–”

“Don’t say it.”

“–depression.”

“No, Mom, I’ll be fine, I swear I’ll be good, I won’t try again, just don’t send me away.”

“Steve, you want to get better, don’t you?”

He laughed bitterly. “Of course I do. I just don’t think I can.”

She took his hand. “So many people have been through this before you, Steve, and so many people have survived it and gone on to live happy lives.”

He shook his head.

“Just….before you give up, just try it. For me.” Her voice cracked on the last two words.

He couldn’t say no when she was looking at him with those shining eyes. Goddamn.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “Fine, I’ll try it. But just don’t be surprised when it doesn’t work.”

“As long as you promise me not to be surprised if it does work.”

He sighed and said nothing else.

So that was how a few days later, once he’d recovered physically, he found himself being transported to another hospital, a smaller one with only one purpose. He went through the obnoxious admission process, answering tons of questions he’d already been asked at least three times before he got here, and signing lots of forms. And then they were moving him and the small number of possessions he had brought with him to his assigned room.

He had a roommate.

Who was in the room when he arrived.

He seemed to be pacing when they walked in, walking away from the door. He had dark hair and he was fairly tall, a lot taller than Steve, but that was all he could see at first. And then the boy turned around and both he and Steve jumped.

Steve jumped because he found himself locking his gaze with a piercing pair of gray eyes. And then his eyes roamed the rest of the boy’s face. Dark circles. A strong jawline. Soft lips that looked like they’d naturally pull into a smirk but were now pulled into a frown.

The boy had jumped because–“Jesus, can’t you at least knock before you scare the shit out of me?”

“Language, James,” the tech sighed. This clearly wasn’t the first time she’d had this problem with him.

“It’s Bucky,” he snarled, also clearly not for the first time.

_“Bucky,”_ the tech corrected herself, “this is your new roommate, Steve.”

Bucky glared at Steve wordlessly. Feeling awkward, Steve raised a hand and waggled his fingers. Bucky just glared harder. Well, shit.

After a long pause, Bucky said, “I guess you can come in. It’s not like I can stop you.”

The tech just sighed, clearly considering Bucky’s manners a lost cause. She helped Steve move his several bags of things onto the shelves on his side of the wall and then left them alone, leaving the door cracked open.

“So what are you here for?” Bucky asked after a long pause.

“Um, are we really supposed to discuss that, you know, outside of a therapy setting?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not really, but it’s not like I give a shit anymore. They’re not gonna know you told.”

Steve chewed his lip.

“I mean,” Bucky continued, “obviously I can’t make you tell me or anything.” He shrugged. “I was just curious.”

Steve hesitated, then spoke, barely above a whisper so no staff members would hear him if they passed by. “I swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills.”

Bucky nodded, as if it didn’t surprise him.

“Uh, what about you?”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “Went manic. I didn’t want to come here, but my parents….”

“Yeah, me too. My mom, I mean. My dad isn’t, um, he died when I was little.”

“Oh,” Bucky said flatly, and then he went back to pacing.

Now it was Steve’s turn to glare. But Bucky was facing away and didn’t see him. So instead, Steve dug through his bag until he found his favorite hat, put it on, then dug around some more for the book he was currently halfway through. Then he plopped down on his new bed and settled in to read. Bucky’s pacing was distracting as hell, but Steve was too scared to say anything. Bucky was intimidating, quite honestly. So he squinted at his book and tried to focus. 

He was not going to enjoy this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this chapter is both kind of short and kind of late. It was kind of hard to write so I kept putting it off in favor of other projects, but don't worry, I really do enjoy working on it! It's just difficult unless I'm in the right mood. There's another self harm scene and a panic attack as well this time, so watch out for those and please don't read if you'll be triggered by it! I think that's all, thank you for bearing with me and for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions, they all mean a lot! Come say hi on tumblr at hearteyesmonroe.tumblr.com, I wanna be friends with all of you to be quite honest.

Bucky did not want a roommate. And he was incredibly bitter about it.

It didn’t help that his roommate was simultaneously incredibly irritable and cute as fuck.

Both of them were incredibly irritable, if he was being honest. Not that it was either of their faults, but the staff at the hospital probably should have thought twice before putting a patient with mixed mania in the same room as a patient with severe depression. It was not exactly working out.

Still, it could be worse. Steve was quiet, mainly sticking to himself in group therapy and spending all his free time reading silently in bed. He took the occasional nap too, and it made Bucky kind of furious that he couldn’t resist taking peeks at Steve’s sleeping face. It was just that he looked so much more peaceful when he was asleep. It wasn’t like Bucky liked him or anything.

In fact they had rather a strong _dislike_ of each other.

Bucky couldn’t help but pace most of the day. It got his energy out in a way that didn’t involve him slicing himself open (most of the time, but he still had the paperclip for desperate situations). Steve would huff after a while and glare, but he wouldn’t say anything at first. Not until he’d suddenly explode.

“Will you fucking stop that?” he finally shouted one afternoon during their “reset time,” which was a fancy term for “sit in your room doing nothing for an hour.” He had a thick book gripped in his hands and he was scowling.

“No, actually,” Bucky spat, “I will not.”

“Can’t you chill for like five seconds?”

“What don’t you understand about me being fucking manic? I can’t sit still, it feels like my skin is crawling, and I’ve barely slept in a week, so fuck off.”

He said this just as the door creaked open so the psych tech could check in on them. “Language, James!”

“It’s Bucky!” He could feel the rage filling his ears. Why couldn’t these people at least get his fucking name right?

She peered in to make sure Steve was there (and that Bucky wasn’t just shouting at nobody) and then just silently backed out of the room, though not before shooting him a warning look.

As soon as she was gone, Bucky stormed into the bathroom and velcroed the curtain shut. He curled up in the corner and reached into his sock, pulling out the paperclip. He pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants by his hip, cutting into his skin with the clip in the same area he had before. He reached for the toilet paper and pressed some to his fresh wounds for a minute, flushing the evidence when the bleeding stopped. He was just washing the blood off his fingers when the tech returned.

“James, is that you in there?”

“Bucky,” he grumbled.

“Good. Doctor’s group is in five minutes, boys.” She shut the door again.

Bucky stepped out of the bathroom and started pacing again. When he turned back to face Steve, Steve’s eyebrows flew up.

“What?” Bucky said frowning.

“You’ve got a spot of blood on your pants. Are you okay?”

Bucky looked down and paled. It was just a drop, he had no idea how the hell Steve even saw it, but it wouldn’t take Steve long to figure it out now and then he’d tell and–

“Bucky? Are you okay?” Steve repeated, slower and more deliberate.

“Oh, just fuck off, Steve,” Bucky snapped, and he took off for doctor’s group.

Steve showed up a minute later. He paused in the doorway and motioned for a psych tech to talk to him privately in the hall for a moment. Bucky’s stomach dropped. Oh shit. Shit, they were gonna find out and then he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore and then he wouldn’t be able to go home for a long time and–

“James?” the psychologist said.

He jumped. “Huh?”

“Looked like I lost you for a second, that’s all.”

Bucky nodded. “Sorry.” He looked down at his lap, fiddling with the fabric that was still bloodstained. He should have changed his clothes, there was evidence now–

“James?” The psych tech swung the door open. Steve slipped into the room past her. Bucky caught his eye and glared.

“I’m sorry,” Steve seemed to mouth as he took a seat.

“It’s Bucky,” Bucky mumbled as he stood, pulling his shirt down to cover the stain as he followed her out of the room.

“Sorry to pull you out of group,” she said as she shut the door behind them. “But there’s something we need to talk about.”

He glowered.

“Would you like to talk in your room, to get more privacy?”

He shrugged, letting his apathy show clear on his face. The tech sighed and led the way to his room.

She gestured for him to take a seat on his bed and pulled up a chair. “I wanted to talk to you because your roommate seems to think you’ve been hurting yourself.”

Bucky had been expecting this, but it still felt like a punch in the gut. “That’s stupid,” he managed to croak.

“Really? Because he said you have blood on your clothes.”

“I just got a small nosebleed, it’s fine.”

“Is it that mark on your waistband?”

He looked down. Shit, his shirt had ridden up when he sat down. “Um.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“James–”

 _“Please.”_ He could feel the tears welling in his eyes, hot and traitorous. “Please don’t.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” he croaked, “please–”

“I need to know you’re not lying to me.”

He couldn’t take it. “Fine! Fine, you wanna see?” He pushed down the waistband of his sweatpants just far enough to reveal the first few cuts. “There, are you happy now?”

“Of course I’m not happy, James–”

“Bucky.”

“Bucky. We need to get this disinfected–”

“No!” he shouted. “Why don’t you just fuck off?”

“Bucky!”

He threw his hands up and stormed out. Then he realized he had no idea where he was supposed to go. His breaths were coming fast and short, limbs trembling. He fell to his knees, tears burning his eyes.

He heard the tech coming up behind him. “Bucky?” When he didn’t respond, her voice got both softer and more urgent. “Bucky?” She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his back.

“Don’t touch me,” he gasped.

She pulled her hand back. “Can you breathe with me?”

“Go away,” he growled.

She stood. “I’ll be right back.”

He stayed where he was, even though he desperately wanted to crawl away, trying to take deep, shuddering breaths. After a minute, he had calmed down enough to crawl back to his room, climbing into his bed.

“Bucky?” The tech’s voice echoed down the hall. His door creaked open a moment later.

“Go away,” he grumbled.

“Take this,” she said, handing him a pill. “To calm you down.”

He reluctantly accepted, hoping it would make her go away if he did what she said.

“What did you use?” she said softly as he gulped down the pill with the water she’d brought him.

“Not telling,” he croaked.

“Can you promise you won’t do it again if I leave?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Doctor’s group is almost over. I’ll come let you know when it’s time for OT group in case you feel up to it.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. Stay safe. I’ll leave now.”

As soon as she was gone, he closed his eyes. He was exhausted and he didn’t want to be awake anymore. He drifted off to sleep for the first time in days.

He was awakened a few hours later by the door creaking open. He’d always been a light sleeper, but he was irritated nonetheless.

“What do you want?” he grumbled without opening his eyes.

“It’s almost dinner,” came Steve’s voice. “Thought you’d like to know.” He sounded almost meek.

Bucky sat up, joints creaking as he rubbed at his eyes. “Oh. ‘Kay, I’ll be right there.”

“‘Kay.” Steve backed out of the room.

Bucky followed him a moment later, joining the line by the unit’s front doors.

“Can I get some off unit expectations?” the psych tech called out, holding a clipboard. They started at the front of the line.

“Don’t talk to other units.”

“Stay with the group.”

“Respect staff,” said Steve.

It was Bucky’s turn. “Grippy socks or shoes.”

“Do those socks have grips on the bottom, James?”

“Bucky. And no, they don’t.”

One of the nurses dug in the drawer and pulled out a new pair of grippy hospital socks, tossing them to the tech, who handed them to Bucky. He pulled them on over the socks he was already wearing and the tech continued down the line.

When everyone had said one rule, they walked out the door in single file to the elevator, all the boys cramming in together. Bucky somehow ended up pressed against Steve, and he could feel his body heat and smell his shampoo. It was the same shampoo the hospital gave all their patients, but it smelled better on Steve.

Bucky shook his head to clear out that strange thought and focused on following the others to the cafeteria, stopping on his way for a pump of hand sanitizer. He grabbed a tray and then poked around, searching for food he could actually stomach. He hated hospital food. He ended up with a plate of salad, mixed nuts, and plain rice. Just like every night, then. He sat down with the group and focused on eating the dull food, which was mildly sickening after eating the same thing for both lunch and dinner for the last week straight. He liked breakfast better. At breakfast there were hashbrowns.

They all finished up and dumped their trays, lining back up to return to the unit. As they filed back in through the door and headed to their respective rooms, Steve caught up with Bucky.

“Bucky, I’m sorry, okay, I just–”

“Don’t talk to me,” Bucky snarled. “Don’t you ever talk to me again.”

Steve pulled back like he’d been slapped. “I–”

“Never. Again.”

He turned around and stomped back down the hallway. They may have to share a room, but that didn’t mean they had to communicate. He wasn’t going to make this easy for Steve.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a long time, sorry pals. I'm the worst. But I'm updating both my WIPs in one day, so yay? I'm being productive for once?

Steve lay in his bed, holding his book up to cover his face and clenching his teeth as he stared past the words on the page. Bucky was lying in his own bed, clenching his stress ball with a smiley face on it that had been in each of their “welcome bags.” (Also included was a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, shampoo, towels, and a pamphlet along with other necessary items. Like playing cards.) It was putting Steve on edge.

It wasn’t fucking fair. He’d just been trying to help, to be a good…well, they weren’t friends by any means. Good roommate? Except that now they had to live together in this awkward silence while Bucky strangled his stress ball and Steve didn’t read.

Steve wasn’t sure whether to feel bad or not. He knew from group therapy that Bucky was bipolar and in what had been diagnosed as a “mixed state,” which he learned was a combination of depression and mania and that…that sounded hellish. So he reasoned that by telling the people at the hospital what Bucky was doing to himself, he was helping Bucky get the help he needed to get out of that state safely. But on the other hand…

On the other hand, Bucky had looked so betrayed. And now it had been decided that his off-unit privileges would be revoked and he was forced to eat his meals by himself in the group room while everyone else went down to the cafeteria. And when they got to go outside during group activities, he had to sit it out in his room, squeezing that stress ball and looking at the ceiling. Steve knew he did this because he’d forgotten something in his room the day after he gave Bucky away and when he’d gone in to get it, Bucky had been doing just that, pausing only to fix Steve with a hard glare before going back to staring up at nothing.

Steve peered over the top of his book to see Bucky biting his trembling lip. Shit, was he crying? Almost crying? They hadn’t spoken for four days now but Steve was too worried to stay silent now.

“Um.”

Bucky snapped his gaze over to Steve. His eyes were glassy.

“Are…are you okay?”

Bucky scoffed. “I thought I told you not to talk to me anymore.”

Steve just held his gaze.

Bucky turned his face back toward the ceiling. “What do you care, anyway?” His voice shook and he coughed as if to cover it.

Steve blinked. “Are you serious?”

Bucky looked back over, swallowing with a look of disgust on his face.

“Okay,” said Steve, “listen. We don’t know each other, really. Like, at all. But…”

Bucky’s brow furrowed.

Steve sighed and dropped his voice low. “Look, I know we’re not supposed to talk about it outside of group but…do you know why I’m here?”

Bucky shook his head. He was still laid against the pillow and the action made his hair staticky.

“I, uh. Well. I’d been depressed for a long time, ever since I was nine or ten years old.” He started to fidget with his hands. He hadn’t told this to anyone but his doctor and his mother, and now he was spilling it to his hostile roommate on the off chance that it would make Bucky stop hating him so much.

It got Bucky’s attention, though, and he sat up, frowning.

Steve took a deep breath and continued on. “It went on for years without me telling anyone because I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I thought I was just broken and that no one would understand. And then one day I just decided I’d had enough.”

“What did you do?” Bucky’s voice was hushed.

“Swallowed a bottle of pills. My mom found me before any real damage could happen but I was in the regular hospital for a few days before I came here.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I guess I just…I wanted to say that I know what it’s like to want to hurt yourself and…I know it was none of my business, not really, but I only did what I did because I don’t want anyone else suffering in silence like I did.”

“You never talked about it in group.”

Steve shrugged. “I spent years not talking about it. Guess I just got in the habit.”

“I don’t like talking about it much either but…the few times I have, it’s helped. Maybe just try it.”

Were they having a moment? Steve thought they might be having a moment.

Steve met Bucky’s eyes and saw that they still looked watery. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he just said, “I’m sorry, by the way. About everything.”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, it sucks having to sit up here by myself all the time while the rest of the group goes places without me. But if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t done it again. So it worked, I guess.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Yeah, I guess.” He stared down at his feet and they were both silent for a full minute before Bucky spoke up again.

His voice was very quiet, almost shy. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’ve had a few days to calm down and the techs and my doctor said you were just trying to help. I guess it wasn’t really fair of me to react like that.”

“You still seem mad.”

Bucky shrugged. “I am, I guess. And I probably wasn’t gonna talk to you for a few more days if you hadn’t said something first. But I am sorry.”

“Me too.”

Bucky lay back down and returned to his stress ball, so Steve picked his book back up and tried to focus on the words as they fell into a silence that was much more companionable than before. And if he stole the occasional glance at Bucky’s face to make sure he was okay, no one else had to know.

When it was time to go to dinner, Steve stood, tucking a bookmark into his book, and was about to wave goodbye to Bucky when the tech took a step into their room.

“James–”

“It’s Bucky,” he and Steve said simultaneously. Bucky shot Steve a look that seemed almost grateful.

“Sorry–Bucky–If you want to come down to dinner with the rest of the group, you can.”

Bucky’s face lit up for a brief moment before he schooled it into an expression of apathy, but Steve caught it and it broke his heart a little bit.

“Sure,” he said, “I guess.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to follow Steve and the tech out of the room.

Down in the cafeteria, Bucky stood directly in front of Steve in the line and Steve watched as he put the food on his plate. Lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes, mixed nuts, plain rice. Steve was pretty sure he hadn’t ever seen Bucky eat anything else, except at breakfast. Steve got his own food, chicken, some of the rice as well, and a tiny serving of vegetables just so he could pretend he was getting vitamins.

Bucky hung back a little, seeming to ponder the drinks. He and Steve ended up getting their drinks at the same time, ginger ale for Steve and juice for Bucky. Then Bucky casually followed Steve over to the tables and, to Steve’s surprise, sat down right next to him.

“You always eat the same thing,” Steve commented.

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t like hospital food.”

“Ehh,” said Steve, “it’s okay. Better than at the regular hospital. That was completely disgusting, I don’t know how I lived.”

Bucky smirked. “I don’t know how I’m living off this stuff now.”

Steve laughed, and for the first time since they met, Steve started to think that they might get on fine after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, they're getting along! It's only a matter of time now...  
> Come cry about these two idiots with me on tumblr, I'm hearteyesmonroe on there and I'm in love with the new instant messaging feature so shoot me a message sometime, I'll be super excited if you do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to do better at updates! Unless my plan changes this is the second to last one, and after that it'll all be either single chapter fics or if it's multi-chapter, it'll already be finished and I'll post regularly because of that so NO MORE SCRAMBLING TO UPDATE FROM ME
> 
> Anyway, the last chapter should be up soon and in fact as soon as I'm done uploading this, I'm gonna start in on it so expect that soon (I hope)

Bucky woke to the sound of crying. It started soft, and he was able to ignore it for several minutes, but as it grew shakier and louder he sat up.

“Steve?” he whispered.

A sniffle.

“Steve?” he said slightly louder.

“Go back to sleep, Bucky, I’m fine,” Steve croaked.

“You don’t sound fine,” Bucky mumbled.

“I _am._ ”

Bucky sighed. “Okay, pal, you gave me a hard time and made me angry but it helped me so now it’s my turn. What’s up?”

“I just,” Steve said, voice crackling over his tears. “I miss my mom and my own room and I still just want to either die or sleep and I can’t. I can’t.”

“Steve…”

“I can’t die, I know that now. I know what it would do to my mom. But I just feel so tired all the time, and empty, and I just want it to end.”

“I know,” Bucky said, hushed. “I know what it’s like. The last time I was hospitalized it was for depression.” He took a deep breath. “I was cutting several times a day and started threatening to just slit my wrists. It’s like I was frantic to find any way to make the pain stop.”

“I’ve never cut,” Steve admitted. “Does it…does it help?”

“God, Steve, if you’re asking because you’re considering it then I’m gonna have to stop you right there because it’s not worth the guilt or the scars.”

“I have considered it. I was just always too scared. It’s why I took pills instead of doing something else. I just figured it would hurt less.”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “Did it?”

“Christ, it was the worst. I felt the sickest I’ve ever been and then I just slipped out of consciousness. I woke up and my stomach had been pumped and I’ve never felt more disgusting, physically or emotionally.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I kind of deserved it for being that stupid.”

Bucky made a sympathetic sound before he could stop himself. “Steve, no, you didn’t deserve any of it. It wasn’t your fault. Depression can trick you into doing all kinds of things you wouldn’t even consider otherwise.”

“I don’t even know if my mom has forgiven me,” Steve admitted. “She’s visited once since I got here and she acted like I was made of glass. Didn’t even mention what happened, just made small talk about people we know and then left half an hour later. But the whole time, she looked so sad.”

“My parents were unbelievably overbearing after I came home. I’m scared they’ll do it again. They wouldn’t let me have anything sharp, not even to help make dinner, and they handed me my medication every day instead of letting me take it myself. And they kept checking on me while I was sleeping. I know because a few times I was awake. It creeped me out.”

“Did you tell them to stop?”

“The third time I heard them come in I screamed at them until they promised not to do it again. My mom cried. I felt horribly guilty, but it was just too much.”

The door creaked open and the tech on duty peeked her head in. “Boys? Are you awake?”

“Rough night,” Steve croaked. “Bucky was helping. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Just don’t be any louder than you are now. Steve, can I trust you to be safe?”

“Don’t worry,” said Bucky, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve said.

“Okay,” she said, closing the door.

As soon as she left, Bucky whispered. “Okay, random question and you can tell me I’m being weird and I’ll let it go, but do you need a hug?”

“Kinda,” Steve said, rubbing his eyes. “I wouldn’t object.”

Bucky stood and crept over to where Steve sat propped up by his pillows. Steve sat up and they reached for each other in the darkness. Bucky rested his knee beside Steve and pulled him in for an embrace. To his surprise, Steve latched on, burying his face in the side of Bucky’s neck. Bucky was not complaining.

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s skin. The warmth of his breath and the feeling of his mouth moving made Bucky shiver.

Oh no.

Better not think about that.

“I think I needed that. To talk about it,” Steve continued.

“Any time, pal.”

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes. It would have been a weird amount of time if they hadn’t just spilled their guts out to each other, but as it was, it was just a comfort that they both needed.

“She’s gonna come back in a few minutes,” Bucky eventually mumbled, and Steve pulled away.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Buck.”

“No problem.” Bucky hopped off the bed and crawled back into his own.

He drifted off to the sound of Steve’s gentle breathing from across the room.

 

***

 

The first words Bucky heard the next morning were, “Do I have to go to group today?”

He lay very still while he waited to hear the response.

“We’d prefer it if you did, Steve, but if you really don’t feel up to it we can’t force you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve grumbled, and Bucky heard the tech’s footsteps as she left the room.

“Steve?” he said softly, sitting up. “You okay?”

“I’m just really tired after being up half the night and I still feel…” He flapped a hand uselessly.

“It’s okay, Steve, you don’t have to explain it to me.”

“Okay.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Stay in bed. Cry, probably. Read, try to get some sleep.”

“Do you at least feel up to mealtimes? I mean, if you’re not I’m sure you can ask them to bring food up for you so you don’t have to leave the unit, it’s just I’d…” Bucky realized saying _I’d miss you_ was probably a little premature for their newfound…whatever this was. So instead he just shrugged.

Steve seemed to get his meaning though, because he met Bucky’s eye and said, “No, I can do that at least.”

They got ready for breakfast and lined up at the door, each saying a rule for going off unit before making their way downstairs to the cafeteria.

As they stood on the elevator, pressed close to each other, Bucky again could catch the scent of Steve’s shampoo and it made something in his stomach jump. He caught himself about to lean closer and immediately took a small step back instead, chastising himself.

As they walked out of the elevator, with Steve a couple steps ahead of Bucky, Steve stretched, his shirt lifting up above his narrow hipbones. Bucky sucked his lower lip into his mouth, trying and failing to tear his gaze away. Steve swung his arms a couple times, then looked behind himself to check that Bucky was still behind him.

“Hey Buck, you okay over there?”

Bucky raised his eyes to glance at Steve’s face. “Yeah. Fine.” He picked up his pace to be right beside Steve, smiling down at him.

Steve didn’t seem suspicious, but Bucky felt guilty for even considering…well. They hadn’t even been friends a couple days ago and now Bucky found himself remembering how it felt to have Steve in his arms the night before, and that just made the guilt worse, because he was supposed to be _comforting_ Steve, not _taking advantage of—_

“Bucky?”

Bucky shook his head to clear it. “Yeah?”

“Sure you’re okay?”

Steve was looking up at Bucky through his eyelashes, and _how had Bucky never noticed how long they were?_ And his skin was like smooth porcelain, flecked with tiny freckles—

_“Bucky!”_

“Sorry, I’m just…tired, I guess.”

Steve’s face fell and Bucky realized that had probably been the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, “that’s my fault, isn’t it? I kept you up. I should have been quieter, I’m—”

“Nonono,” Bucky said, “it’s not your fault, please don’t say that, Steve. I wanted to help, I’m just sorry you don’t feel well.”

“O-okay,” Steve said, brows furrowing as if he didn’t believe what Bucky was telling him.

“C’mon,” said Bucky, pushing the door open and gesturing for Steve to go ahead of him.

They got their breakfast and sat on the end of the table, a few seats down from the other boys, facing each other. Bucky was bringing his bagel to his mouth to take a bite when he felt a kick to his foot. He looked up.

Steve was looking at him with an almost shy expression. “Hey, um…thanks. For everything.”

“What’s everything?” Bucky asked, bemused.

“For forgiving me, first of all. And then for last night. I don’t really have anyone, besides my mom, and you know how that’s been lately so…thanks. It means a lot.” He was blushing now, a vivid pink hue tinging his entire face and the tips of his ears. It was also creeping down his neck and Bucky found himself briefly wondering if Steve was a full body blusher, which, _inappropriate, Bucky._

He reached a hand across the table, grasping at Steve’s fingers. “It’s okay,” he said, and then when Steve arched an eyebrow, “No, seriously. S’what friends are for, right?”

Steve’s face broke into a grin. “Friends, huh?”

Bucky smirked. “Unless you secretly hate me and you’re just using me for my awesome hugs.” He realized he was still holding onto Steve’s hand and moved to pull away, but Steve squeezed and held on.

“Nah,” said Steve, “we’re friends.” He let go to reach for his drink and Bucky retreated his hand, trying to burn the memory of the feeling of Steve’s cool fingers into his mind.

 

***

 

As soon as they were upstairs, Steve retreated to their room.

“Is he okay?” one of the other boys asked Bucky quietly.

Bucky shrugged. “He’s just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Another boy, smirking, leaned in and whispered, “Bit weird, isn’t he? I feel kind of bad for you, having to room with him.”

Blood rushed in Bucky’s ears instantly and his hands curled into fists involuntarily. “You wanna say that again?” he hissed.

The guy took a step back, laughing. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t realize you were so buddy-buddy with him.”

_Seriously?_ Bucky took a step forward. “Are you stupid? Did you not see—” he started, then felt someone’s hands closing around his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say anyway. _Did you not see us holding hands over breakfast?_ As if Steve needed to get shit for that too.

“C’mon, pal,” the boy who had grabbed him whispered. “It’s not worth it, he’s just trying to get you worked up. Just let it go.”

“Is something going on here?” a tech asked, coming over.

“Chill,” Bucky muttered, “it’s not like I was gonna do anything.”

“Bucky, do you need time to cool off in your room?”

At least they were getting his name right now. “You gonna make me?”

“It might be for the best. I’ll come get you when it’s time for the next group.”

Bucky shook free of the other boy’s grip and stalked back to his room.

As soon as he opened the door, his anger melted at the sight of Steve curled up in his blankets, only his face poking out. He wasn’t asleep, just staring listlessly at the wall.

“Stevie?”

Steve blinked, looking up at Bucky. “Don’t you have group?”

“Nah, they sent me back here.”

Steve sat up at that, blankets going with him. “What? Why?”

“People were talking shit and I wasn’t gonna stand for it.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean? Who were they talking about?”

Bucky opened and shut his mouth a few times, staring helplessly at the floor.

“Oh,” said Steve.

“Steve, please don’t let it bother you. They don’t know you and they’re assholes anyway.”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said, but he was blinking too much and seemed to be retreating further into his blankets with every moment that passed. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

And that…that pained Bucky to his very core. “Steve…” He took the necessary steps toward his friend to sit next to him and pull him into a tight embrace. “Please don’t let it bother you, okay? He was just being a jerk and I dealt with it. And if you want, when we’re all out of here I can kill him. As long as you’re willing to help hide the body.”

Steve let out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think you’re supposed to talk like that in a mental hospital,” he whispered.

“Fuck it,” Bucky said, “I do what I want.”

They heard footsteps and Bucky jumped up, relocating to his own bed. The door creaked open.

“Just doing checks,” said the tech. “Is Steve in there?” She looked around the corner. “Hi, Steve.” She backed out of the room and Steve and Bucky looked at each other, smirking. Steve nestled back into his bed while Bucky snagged one of his many books and they sat in silence until the tech came back to get him for the next group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww things are looking up <3 <3 Thank you for reading, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me writing. Come scream at me on tumblr, my url is hearteyesmonroe and I love talking to new people so send me a message!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHHHHH I'M FINALLY FINISHED now I can stop guilting over having an unfinished work published on here. Lol.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

It had been three days since they’d settled into their friendship and they were already almost inseparable. Steve had caught the nurses and techs giving them concerned looks, but it hadn’t been enough for them to send one of them to a different room, so frankly he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t know how he had managed without Bucky’s company and he didn’t want to have to find out again.

And now Bucky was leaving.

Bucky reached out to grab Steve’s hand and Steve let him, even as he blinked his eyes to try to clear the stinging without being obvious by rubbing at them. Bucky seemed to catch on anyway because he reached out his other hand to brush Steve’s cheek as he whispered, “Hey. Steve, it’s okay. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again. I won’t be leaving until tomorrow and you’ll get to leave in another few days, and then you can call me and we can meet up. It’ll be fine.”

Steve knew he was being stupid and irrational and so he nodded, giving Bucky a weak smile.

Bucky seemed to realize after a moment that he was touching Steve’s face and pulled his hand back. “Uh, sorry, didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” Steve admitted. And he didn’t. He really, really didn’t. Not when Bucky was looking at him with those huge gray eyes and biting his lip shyly and it felt like he was seeing Steve, really  _ seeing  _ him. No one had ever looked at Steve like that before. He wasn’t really sure what it meant, but he liked it.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “I’ll miss you too.”

 

***

 

The next morning, he watched, chewing his lip, as Bucky packed his bags. Every so often, he’d throw something at Steve and say “Cheer up, punk, it’s not like I’m dyin’,” and Steve would smile and throw it back and they’d lull back into silence.

At 10:30, Bucky’s mother arrived and one of the techs came to their room to get him.

“Bucky, your mom’s waiting.”

Steve watched as Bucky looked up, a frown creasing his brow. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and backed out of the room and Bucky turned to Steve.

“You still got the paper with my number?”

Steve nodded. “It’s already in my bag so I don’t lose it.” He’d also memorized it just in case, but he didn’t say that part.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Wanna walk me out?”

Steve nodded and picked up one of Bucky’s bags. Bucky took the rest of his things and they walked to the front doors of the unit.

A woman was waiting there, and Steve could recognize instantly that she was Bucky’s mother. She had the same dark hair and dimpled chin, but most importantly, the same kind of look in her eyes. Steve found himself liking her immediately, which he knew was silly, but she reminded him of Bucky and he liked Bucky, so it made a kind of sense.

“Hi, Mom,” Bucky said, setting his things down by the front desk and walking over to her to fall into her embrace.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” he said, and the look on his face was genuine. “I feel a lot better.” Then he turned and saw Steve still hanging back, clutching Bucky’s bag. “Mom, this is my friend Steve.”

Steve blinked and set down the bag next to the rest of Bucky’s things, stepping forward. “Uh, hey.” He shifted from one foot to the other, looking at the ground.

Bucky must have noticed Steve’s discomfort because now he was turning his full attention to him. “Hey, thanks for everything, Stevie. Promise you’ll call when you’re out?”

Steve broke into a grin despite himself. “You know I will, you jerk.”

“Just checkin’. C’mere.” Bucky reached out and tugged Steve close for a hug. Steve squawked but then allowed himself to fit comfortably against Bucky. This was nice. He’d miss this while he was stuck in here without Bucky.

“Be good, okay? So they let you out as soon as possible. Sucks being stuck in here with no friends, I know from experience.” This was mumbled into Steve’s ear, and he nodded against Bucky’s chest.

“I will.”

“Good,” said Bucky, releasing Steve. Steve immediately ached from the loss of contact, but he shrugged it off and smiled up at Bucky.

“Good luck, pal,” Steve said. Bucky nodded as he picked up his things, his mother helping him.

And then Bucky was gone.

Steve gritted his teeth, willing his eyes to stop stinging, because crying meant he was sad, and sad meant people would mistake him for still depressed, which he wasn’t. He felt ready to go home, and maybe that was just him wanting to follow Bucky out of here, but he didn’t feel like a danger to himself anymore either. He just wanted to go home.

 

***

 

There was no way around it. Steve was moping.

The nurses noticed, and so did the other boys. The boys mostly avoided him, which Steve suspected was because Bucky had had a little talk with them before he left. The nurses mostly gave him concerned looks and whispered to each other.

He didn’t really give it much thought until his doctor brought it up.

“Steven, you’ve been making good progress during your time here, but in the last couple days you’ve seemed to relapse. Would you like to talk about what’s going on?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Relapsed? No, I just…I’m just lonely. I miss Bucky.”

“James Barnes?”

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to discuss that with you. While we can’t stop patients from exchanging information, we recommend you wait three months or so before contacting each other again.”

Steve bristled. “Like hell I’m gonna wait. He’s my friend.”

The doctor pursed his lips. “And that’s ultimately your decision. I’m just letting you know what’s preferred. Regardless of what you choose to do, you can’t allow this to hinder your progress.”

“If you’re worried I’m still a danger to myself, I’m not. I feel totally safe.”

“That’s good, Steve. We just need to hold you another couple days to be sure. That’s actually the main thing I wanted to talk to you about. As long as you aren’t experiencing more symptoms, we think you’ll be ready to go Tuesday morning.”

Steve sat up straighter. “I can go soon?”

“Yes, but we do need you to be honest with us if you find you don’t feel ready to go yet.”

“No, I’m ready.”

The doctor stood. “That’s good. We’ll be contacting your mother to arrange for your pickup.”

Steve grinned. “Thank you.” He stood too and the doctor led him out. As soon as the doctor had shut the door behind him, Steve spun in a circle, giggling. He was leaving. And then he could see Bucky again.

A nurse who had been coming down the hall without him noticing coughed and he jerked his head up to meet her eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered, but he really wasn’t. He felt amazing.

 

***

 

The last two days of Steve’s stay passed in a blur of mealtime, group, and sleep. He didn’t pay much attention to any of it anymore because what did it matter as long as he kept up appearances well enough to be able to go home when they said he could?

He did nothing to risk being held back. He went to all the groups, showered regularly, and slept when lights went out. And the thought that kept him going through all of it, more than the thought of his own bed, more than the thought of being with his mom again, more than the thought of finally being reunited with his phone and laptop, was the thought of getting to see Bucky.

So maybe it was a ridiculous, stereotypical teenager kind of goal, to see a boy again, but Steve didn’t really care. Bucky had helped him when he was feeling bleak and it had turned out their personalities were wholly compatible, so how was he supposed to not miss him now?

Tuesday morning, he packed his things, thinking back to the day he’d watched Bucky pack. It ached, to remember the feeling of Bucky’s arms around him as he hugged him goodbye.

His mother arrived right on time and everything happened so fast around Steve, or maybe he was just distracted by the thought that he was finally getting out, but the next thing he knew he was stepping out the doors, going down the elevator, walking out the main entrance, and he felt the fresh air hit his face and he grinned. He’d been outside a few times during his stay, but this felt different. Symbolic.

As soon as they were in the car, his mother handed him his phone. “I’m guessing you’ve missed this.”

He grabbed for it, almost dropping it in his excitement, and entered the number he’d more than memorized by now as one of his contacts. Then, holding his breath, he sent a text:

**Steve:** I’m out

Then he realized that sounded weirdly cryptic, coming from an unknown number, so he added

**Steve:** This is Steve btw

It was only half a minute before he got a response.

**Bucky:** !!!!!!!!!!!

**Bucky:** Are you busy this afternoon? We could meet up

“Mom, I don’t have to do anything today other than unpack, right?”

“No, honey, why?”

“I wanted to go see a friend.”

He didn’t miss the way her eyebrows shot up for a half second. “Oh! Okay.”

**Steve:** Nah, I’m not busy. Where were you thinking?

**Bucky:** Idk, my place? I can pick you up at like 4

Steve texted Bucky his address and told his mother as much.

“I’ve never heard about a Bucky. Did you meet him there?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said. Then softer, “We helped each other out.”

“I’m glad,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “I’m glad you’re doing better, sweetie.”

Steve nodded and leaned his head against the window. He was pretty sure he’d never been happier.

 

***

 

At 4:00 that afternoon, he was proven wrong as he saw Bucky’s car pulling up the driveway.  _ Now _ he had never been happier. He was out the door before Bucky had even turned off the car, waving. Then he realized he probably shouldn’t leave before introducing Bucky to his mother and backed inside again, Bucky behind him.

He hovered in the doorway as he waited for Bucky to catch up. He met Bucky’s eye and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the pure affection written across his face.

“Missed you, punk.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to do, so he shoved Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky laughed and reeled Steve in for a hug. Steve melted into Bucky’s side despite himself. He had quickly learned that nowhere felt safer to him than pressed against Bucky. Bucky who smelled like shampoo and cinnamon and a hint of sweat and felt warm and solid as Steve squeezed his arms around him.

He heard his mother’s footsteps and he and Bucky pulled apart, still smiling softly at each other.

“Is this Bucky?” she asked, looking between them.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bucky, reaching out a hand.

“Call me Sarah,” she said, reaching out and shaking the offered hand. “What time do you think you’ll be back?”

Steve looked to Bucky. Bucky shrugged. “Is there a time he needs to be back?”

“By ten would be good. He needs his sleep.”

Steve blushed, feeling like a little kid again with a bedtime.

“Alright, ma’am—uh—Sarah.”

She laughed and pushed them out the door and they found themselves standing in the driveway, staring at each other.

“I like her,” Bucky said, breaking the silence.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, so do I.”

Bucky gestured to the car. “Ready to go?”

They climbed in and pulled out of the driveway. As they drove, Steve stole enough glances at Bucky to know that Bucky was stealing entirely too many glances at him.

“Watch the road,” he finally said after the sixth time he caught Bucky looking at him.

Bucky turned an amusing shade of pink. “Sorry, I, uh—”

“It shouldn’t be hard, I’m not that interesting.”

“Steve!”

“What?”

“You’re plenty interesting.”

“Not to look at.”

“Steve.”

“Yes, Bucky?”

“Look, now’s as good a time as any, although that’s not true because I could have picked a time when I wasn’t driving.”

“You could pull over,” Steve snarked.

Ignoring Steve’s tone, Bucky said, “I’ll consider it. But Steve…Steve. Listen, like always, if I’m being weird you can just tell me to fuck off and I’ll let it go and hopefully it won’t make things awkward and we can just go back to normal but—”

“Bucky…what are you trying to say?” Steve’s heart was pounding. He tried to ignore it.

“I, um. Steve. Shit, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Spit it the fuck out then.”

“I like you.”

“Uhuh.”

“I mean, like, a lot.”

“Hm.”

“As in—”

“Hey Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Pull over and kiss me.”

“Oh thank god.”

Bucky did as he was told, pulling to the side of the road and putting the car in park, and then he just stared at Steve, a deer in the headlights look in his eyes. “I’ve never—”

“Me neither. Let’s try anyway.” Steve reached out and tugged on the front of Bucky’s shirt, pulling him down. Their mouths met sloppily, not quite lined up, and Steve laughed into it. He pulled back slightly and realigned and then they fit together just right. Like it was supposed to be this way.

Bucky experimentally ran his tongue along Steve’s lower lip and Steve opened up for him. He could taste chocolate on Bucky’s tongue and he smiled despite himself. He pulled away and saw that Bucky’s hands were shaking. He took them in his own and met Bucky’s eyes. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“Sorry, just. Nervous. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Trying not to fuck it up.”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up.”

Bucky let out a shaky laugh. “If you say so.”

“I do. You’re gonna be fine.  _ We’re _ gonna be fine.”

Bucky nodded, hands still trembling, and put the car back in drive.

And  _ this. _ Steve had never been happier than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally got together, yay! We all knew where this was going tbh. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with it as well as to anyone who's sat through the whole thing even if you just found it. Comments and kudos inspire me to write more so if you're into that kind of thing it would be super appreciated. I'm hearteyesmonroe on tumblr and I love talking to new people so come say hey!


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